


New Year, New Me

by Katsitting (Nekositting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Crack Treated Seriously, Explicit Language, M/M, Not Beta Read, Suggestive Themes, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12903381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting
Summary: Once he managed to blink all dark spots from his vision, and he determined that he had not actually blinded himself, Harry began to,  or at least tried to, read the bright blue notification on screen.What the--?It was a message from Tom Riddle.At three in the bloody morning.





	New Year, New Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peixe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peixe/gifts).



> Prompt: “Stop Texting me weird stuff so late at night.” + Tomarry
> 
> For both the anon on tumblr and peixe. They contributed to this lovely gem ;)
> 
> Leave kudos and comments! This is a nice break from the darkness and literal hellfire in Phobia waiting for me. (If you were alerted on the tumblr drabble fic, I deleted the fic and made it its own separate post here.)

_Buzz._

Harry groaned aloud, shifting in his bed to reach for his phone. He had only just settled into bed, his day far longer than he had wanted it to be.

Finals were around the corner. The holidays were nearing and he wanted to do nothing more than sleep. He didn’t know how late it was, didn’t even know when he had finally settled the anxiety thrumming through his veins when he’d laid down.

It could have been minutes. It could easily have been hours.

All that had registered before bed was the cloying darkness around him and the delicious press of cool sheets against his skin.

A decadence that he had not indulged in in what felt like  _months_. And considering just what time in the semester it was, it was most likely the case. He hadn’t caught a break the entire semester, and he didn’t expect to get one once classes ended after exams. 

Lord knew when he would catch a break that entire month. 

Harry was beyond upset that someone had dared shoot him a message.

The person at the other end just had to know what point in the semester it was. All his friends were bloody university students. His parents never texted him, and considering how hectic December was before the holidays, his parents would never dare bother him until at least after his exams were over.

_Fucking arsehole._

Harry cursed under his breath repeatedly as he reached, almost lazily, for his phone before he finally grabbed hold of it on the nightstand by his bed. He fumbled with it for several seconds, nearly dropping it on his face once or twice when the stupid thing slipped from his fingers.

It was a sleek iPhone. Not new, and definitely not the latest model of the year. It normally fit nicely within his hands. But not today. 

The phone was fighting him tooth and nail, refusing to settle comfortably in his hand. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to drag it up to his face, but there was no one around to witness the spectacle.

It was just him and the six football posters he had plastered in his tiny dorm room.

Harry didn’t bother putting on his glasses, leaving the frames underneath his pillow. He wasn’t about to spend another five minutes trying to look for them.

Sure, he had shitty vision. But that certainly did not mean he was blind. He didn’t need it to figure just who was the arsehole that texted him. He also wasn’t about to waste more time he could be using to sleep by fumbling for them, either.

Not that he needed them much anyway. He always kept the font on his phone to a relatively large size. You just never knew when you’d be stuck without them. At least, that’s how Harry justified it. 

Harry knew for a fact that he wouldn’t always have his glasses on hand. His entire life was testament enough to that. Hell, the current semester was more than enough proof that he didn’t have his life sorted out enough to keep his glasses on him.

Harry had forgotten his glasses numerous times already this term alone. It wasn’t his fault that his alarm did a piss poor job of waking him up on time for those  _ungodly_ morning classes he had every week.

Harry practically smashed the phone into his face before he clicked on the center button.

The phone immediately came to life.

Harry swore when it nearly blinded him.

He blinked repeatedly to chase away the black spots dancing along his vision, caught completely off guard by the brightness of his phone screen. It was on full brightness. He must have somehow forgotten to lower the brightness before he’d settled into bed.

 _Nice going, Harry_.

Once he managed to blink all dark spots from his vision, and he determined that he had not actually blinded himself, Harry began to,  or at least tried to, read the bright blue notification on screen.

_What the--?_

It was a message from Tom Riddle.

At three in the bloody  _morning_.

It was a giant mass of text that Harry had little hope of transcribing, without his glasses, at least. There was a myriad of emojis in between the white text, and Harry was at a total loss at how to make sense of it. It was too dense. Practically a paragraph.

Harry was not even close to equipped to deal with this bullshit so late at night. Not that he was equipped to deal with it on any other night, but still, it was particularly irksome in that moment.

Just who sent a  _paragraph_ of messages anymore? 

Harry tried to make sense of the letters, but they were beyond blurred. The combination of the cellphone’s brightness, his exhaustion, and his brain’s outright refusal in reading the message making it an impossible task. The only thing legible were the emojis.

...Harry would have to grab his glasses if he wanted to know what the message said. He was not happy.

 _Bloody perfect_.

Harry grumbled before he reached underneath his pillow with one hand for familiar metal. He stopped when he felt cold metal beneath his fingertips, and pulled them out with little issue.

He quickly pressed them onto his face, satisfied that at least this didn’t take him three years to put on. Harry had fully expected his glasses to give him just as much trouble as his phone, but he supposed, it was punishment enough that he was  _awake_ rather than asleep like he was supposed to be. 

But Harry had a message from  _Riddle_. He just couldn’t ignore it.

Riddle  _never_ texted him.

Harry could count in one hand the amount of times the man had gone out of his way to text him. Perhaps, twice in one year if he was being generous?

And never with so many emojis, or any, for that matter. Riddle didn’t seem like the sort. It was painfully obvious from the few evenings Harry had to interact with him that Riddle was about as dry as sandpaper, and as prickly as a cactus. If he messaged you, it was for a reason. Harry knew that much.

The message on his phone was telling him entirely different story, however.

Harry was not nearly delirious enough to imagine all those emojis. That Riddle, in fact, had sent him a paragraph of text. Easily more words than Riddle and he had shared in the past three years.

It was...curious. Too strange and out of character for Harry to leave it well enough alone.

Harry pressed his finger against the phone screen, and watched as the message opened up, not sure of what to expect.

“whats poppin in that peppermint pussy u little snowhoe  DICKCEMBER is here  and the only way to stay warm is to ride daddy's christmAss tree  all month long until his SAP comes out  but dont forget  to lick off any syrup from daddy's HARD candy cane  if u want to get RAWED  under the mistleHOE  then send this to 2⃣5⃣ of your thickest elves  if u get 0⃣ back then ur an UGLY GRINCH  if u get back  ur a BAD JINGLE BELL BITCH If u get back  then get ready for daddy Claus and st DICKolas on christmAss eve SHARE in  seconds or you wont end  with a BANG.”

_What?_

Harry was completely floored. He was staring so intently at the message that it was a miracle in itself that he hadn’t burned a hole through his phone from the intensity of his stare.

This was the most ridiculous thing Harry had ever read in his life. Single-handedly worse than the time Ron had drunkenly texted him about his massive crush on his now-girlfriend, Hermione. Sending him messages after messages, and even  _pictures_ , of himself in his underwear, desperate for advice that Harry had been unable to give at the time.

It had taken weeks of apologies from Ron’s  ~~end~~  to get Harry to talk to him again. Though, the image was unfortunately still burned to the back of Harry’s head. Especially the picture of Ron’s damn elephant undies with the trunk located right where his--

Harry banished the thought before he even dared go down that route.

This was about Riddle, not Ron. Harry didn’t need to add more fuel to the fire. The fact that Riddle of all people had sent him something like that, in the middle of the  _night_ , was just wrong. It was absurd. It was something straight out of an episode of the Twilight Zone.

Riddle was the last person Harry would have expected to do something like this. To send a chain message of that sort to  _Harry_ of all people, no less.

Riddle was practically the most boring person Harry knew. He was the complete opposite of Harry in almost every way. Harry at least had a sense of humor, while Riddle was just smug and unapproachable more often than not.

Riddle also hardly ever smiled, and literally everything that left his mouth was infuriating. There wasn’t a time in Harry’s short association with Riddle that the man did not say something offensive. It was as if Riddle were incapable of saying something nice. Well, around Harry mostly.

Harry couldn’t speak to his behavior around others, but still, Riddle was a smug and condescending bastard. It was a skill in and of itself to be as disagreeable as he was with Harry. 

No words needed to be exchanged, even. Just a look from Riddle’s direction said it all.

Rather than a resting bitch face, Riddle had a resting arsehole face. As if Riddle was begging for Harry to punch him, or to knock him down a peg or two.

It was just awful that the man was so pretty. A bloody shame, really. It should be a crime to be as attractive as Riddle was when he was such a fuckface. He didn’t deserve those sharp cheekbones, those plump pink lips, nor the perfectly piled hair at the top of his head.

Riddle deserved none of it. It was a complete waste.

Though, that still didn’t answer the most burning question at the forefront of Harry’s mind.

Harry still had no  _bloody_ clue of how to even reply to that, of how to even draft a response.

Should he even reply back? Why was he even  _considering_ replying to such an obvious chain message? It had to all just be a joke. It had to be a mistake from Riddle’s end, and nothing more. For all Harry knew,  Riddle could have been drunk and that was why he had sent Harry of all people such an unsolicited message in the first place.

There were plenty of possibilities that could readily explain away why Riddle had sent the text.

And all of them had little to do with Riddle wanting to actually talk to him at three in the morning.

 _But what if he did it on purpose?_  A traitorous voice whispered in the back of Harry’s head.

_What if Tom was sober and he had intended to send you something like this? What if, for all his douchebaggery, he wanted to talk to you?_

Harry started typing before he realized it, before he could truly consider just what it was that he was doing. It was bloody stupid that he was even writing a response to this tosser. But Harry was just too curious for his own good, too interested in seeing just what response he’d get from Riddle.

The  _what ifs_  in the back of Harry’s head were too alluring and much too tempting. This was  _Riddle_. This wasn’t some random bloke sending him a message in the middle of then night. 

 _And you think he’s pretty_...a mocking voice whispered in the back of Harry’s mind. Harry wanted to smack himself for the thought, for even going down that route. He would sooner walk into oncoming traffic before he ever admitted something like that. Riddle was attractive, Harry was not blind.

But Riddle was a dick. Whatever allure the man had, his personality made it impossible to appreciate.

 _You still think his arse looks nice in a nice pair of tight jeans, however_...the same damn traitorous voice mocked, and Harry wanted to scream in frustration.

Harry was not attracted to him. That was not the reason why he was going to reply. He was  _curious_. Nothing more and nothing less.

It wasn’t the first time his blasted curiosity had gotten him into trouble, and Harry was certain it wouldn’t be the last even as he finally drafted up the perfect response for the situation.

Maybe Riddle would fail to answer. Maybe Riddle would ignore it all together and pretend he never sent the ridiculous text to Harry in the first place.

There was only one way to find out.

“Stop texting me weird stuff so late at night.”

It wasn’t the most eloquent message, but it was enough to get his point across.

Satisfied, Harry hit “send.”

And then he waited, too awake now to settle back into bed. Especially after Tom bloody Riddle had sent him a fucking message about getting dicked down in December.

Harry couldn’t just let this pass him by without knowing for certain that it was Riddle that sent this and not one of his friends trying to play a joke on the man. Though, now that Harry thought about it, it was more likely that one of Riddle’s friends  _did_ manage to snatch his phone or something.

It was more plausible than Riddle being drunk out of his arse considering Harry, in all the time he had known Riddle, had  _never_ let more than one glass of wine pass through his lips at the ridiculous friendsgiving parties Hermione threw every year.

Why Riddle went to those things and why Hermione  _invited_ him at all was a mystery, even now.

Harry was ripped from his thoughts when his phone burst to life in his hands, the vibrations traveling from the tips of his fingers all the way to his elbow from the intensity. It took him a second to open the message and read it.

“Wat r u doing?”

Harry squinted, confused.

_Huh?_

“Riddle, have you been drinking? That was too many misspelled words.”

Harry tapped up the message and sent it with a speed he had not known he had. None of this made any sense. The Riddle he knew would never make so many glaring errors.

It was sickening, in a way. To see someone that typically behaved so full of himself act almost...like a normal college student. Tom Riddle just didn’t do  _normal._  Harry couldn’t reconcile this fact.

It didn’t take long for Riddle to respond, and Harry sucked in a surprised breath.

“R u alone?”

Harry pinched himself to assure himself that he was  _not_ still sleeping. Unsure if he should laughing or be deeply concerned with Riddle’s behavior.

“Riddle, it’s three in the morning, of course I’m alone.” Harry replied immediately, unsure of why he even kept replying when the best solution to this entire thing was not answering. It was easy. Simple.

It would take little effort from Harry’s end to stop replying.

Harry sent a second text before he could stop himself.

“Please stop texting me.”

Harry should just silence his phone. It would be just as easy as ignoring Riddle’s texts. 

He knew how it worked, had silenced his phone numerous times in the past. It was the best way to avoid a lecture from Hermione’s end or to focus on studying when he had a looming deadline. He really did know how it worked. It’d take seconds to do it.

But his fingers refused to tap on the crescent moon and silence his phone. It was as though Harry was physically unable to pry his eyes from the screen. He had exams soon, he couldn’t afford to mess around with Riddle. He couldn’t afford to lose sleep over something as stupid as this, but--

Then, a message bubble appeared right at the bottom of his messaging app. Riddle was typing a response.

 _Go to bed, Harry_...said a voice that sounded too much like Hermione’s motherly tone.

_It is three in the morning on a Thursday. You have exams next week, go to bed._

Harry wanted to listen. He was more than aware of this, and that he would certainly regret this all the next day when he had to wake up to start studying against.

But Harry ignored all the warnings.

He wanted to see how this all unfolded. He wanted to know for certain that this was Riddle. He wanted to know if Riddle was capable of being drunk, that he actually had a whole other side to him that Harry did not even know existed. This was a once in the life time opportunity, in a way. It wasn’t every day that someone with such a stick shoved up his arse could loosen up.

The phone vibrated in his hand, and the blue bubble appeared on screen.

“Invite me over.”

Harry frowned. He would most certainly not. It was three in the morning. He had classes to study for, and he refused to be alone with Riddle.It was one thing to humor the man by responding to his text messages, but entirely another to actually meet with him face to face.

Lord knew what might happen, considering the man was drunk and that chain message had been a bit...racy. 

_Not that you minded very much, you’re not even mad that he woke you up at three in the morning anymore..._

Harry ignored the thought.

“No, you’re drunk. I’m going to sleep. I promise I’ll pretend we never had this conversation.”

Harry replied before, finally, silencing his phone.

He was curious, but should he really keep this going? What if Riddle was drunk and woke up the next day with messages from Harry? What if Riddle took that opportunity to irritate him, to make himself into more of a nuisance than he already was in person?

Harry didn’t want that, even if it physically pained him not to see this through. 

_God, you’re turning into Hermione. Who are you, Harry Potter?_

Harry shifted into a more comfortable position on his bed, ready to shut off his phone and forget that Riddle had messaged him at all when his phone buzzed within his hands once again, nearly half a second after he had replied.

It was as if Riddle was somehow glued to his phone, desperate to see Harry’s response.

Harry snorted at the ridiculousness of the image. Riddle desperate to talk to Harry? It was  _absurd_.

Yet, it didn’t stop Harry from picturing Riddle’s pale face flushed with drunkenness, sitting down in the middle of a rowdy university party, phone in hand as he waited for Harry to answer. Perhaps he had a cheap Pabst beer in hand, or even a bottle of cheap red wine in his free hand as he tried to chase after the allure of intoxication?

It was just so plebeian. So ordinary and unassuming that Harry discarded the image as quickly as it had formed. Though, that didn’t stop him from laughing lowly to himself. 

Harry unlocked his phone against his better judgment and opened the message.

“Im outside.”

Harry swore before jolting in shock when he heard heavy knocking. It was coming directly from the front door at the opposite end of his room.

Harry tried to not to cover his head with his sheets in frustration.

There was no way that Riddle had actually fucking come over. No one was allowed into the building unless they had the key to get onto the elevators. It was strictly enforced. The security in the building notorious for calling the cops if someone stood out in front of the lobby for longer than permitted. Unless Riddle somehow  _flew_ into the building through an open window, in the middle of bloody  winter, Harry sincerely doubted Riddle was actually outside.

Harry’s phone buzzed again.

The phone felt hot and heavy in his palm. As though it were physically burning through his palm with the weight of Riddle’s message. He should have ignored the chain message like any sensible person would have. 

But no, Harry just had to be curious. He just had to know. And now, Riddle was standing outside his door, somehow. It was easy to ignore someone through text, but a whole other feat to ignore them while they were standing in front of the door. 

With a sigh, Harry glanced at his phone.

“Its cold out here, harry.”

 _Ugh_.

Harry ripped his sheets from his body, leaving his phone on the bed. He was too upset to even think of taking it with him when he stormed to the door. In fact, it was better that he had left it. Knowing him, he’d fling it directly at Riddle’s face and break the screen, making it the third time in one year that he’d broken his phone.

Harry couldn’t afford to pay for another replacement screen.

Irked, Harry grabbed onto the door and slammed it open. He didn’t care that he was only in pair of green checkered boxers and an over-sized white T-shirt. Riddle was not invited, and if he had a problem with his attire, then he could go suck it.

Riddle was standing inches in front of the door, hair disheveled and clothes completely rumpled. He was dressed in a white, rumpled dress shirt that had several buttons undone at the collar and black dress pants that looked as though they’d seen better days. 

Just what kind of party did Riddle go to?

Harry stared, noting the bright pink flush on Riddle’s cheeks, as if he’d been drinking excessively and had walked through inches of snow in the dark. His eyes were bright, and lit with a mirth that Harry could not recall ever seeing on the man’s face before.

Riddle looked pleased; almost...happy to be standing outside despite the icy breeze that had to be cutting deep into Riddle’s bones. It was bloody freezing, that much Harry could tell when his own feet felt like were turning into ice blocks. The couple seconds Harry had been standing showing just how cold it was, and just how inappropriately dressed he was for the weather.

Not that Riddle was dressed any better. 

“Is there a reason you’re standing in front of my door at three in the fucking morning?” Harry seethed, growing angrier when Riddle suddenly smiled, lips stretching into a predatory grin.

Harry was immediately put on edge.

“I have to tell you ssssomething.” Riddle slurred, taking a step closer.

“And that couldn’t have waited until, you know, later today? After you sobered up?” Harry said, exasperated when Riddle shook his head. The same stupid smile plastered on his handsome face before he took another step closer to the door.

Harry caught the movement, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I thought it was better to tell you in person.”

“Well, go on then. Let’s get this over with so I can get some sleep. Not everyone can be ‘Mr. I’m Too Hot and Too Smart To Study Like Everyone Else.’”

Harry wanted to smack himself. What was he bloody  _saying_?

Had he completely lost his mind? Was he somehow getting drunk by just being in Riddle’s presence? Just what was wrong with him?

Why would he ever say that Riddle was handsome and intelligent to his face?

“Harry.”

Harry was ripped from his thoughts by the authority in the man’s tone. The obvious slur not at all detracting from the seriousness in his voice. It didn’t seem like Riddle had picked up on what Harry had said, and Harry could not have been more relieved.

He was just about to speak, to ask once again for Riddle to get to the bloody point when Riddle bridged the space between them.

It was no more than a second. Riddle had moved so quickly that Harry did not even think to take a step back before the man was invading his space.

Riddle’s breath was warm against his face, a sharp contrast to the arctic air brushing against Harry’s bare legs as he stood frozen by the open doorway.

Riddle’s breath smelled of alcohol--like the whiskey Harry’s dad would break out only on special occasions. It was rich and bitter, and Harry inhaled the sharp scent deeply through his lungs as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

Of  _what_ this was because Riddle had never been this close before. The man avoided physical contact like the plague. Always distant, always with his nose held up in the air and completely untouchable.

Riddle was so close that Harry could touch him if he wanted.

“I..think I may not find you as annoying as I once thought.” Riddle murmured, the heat in his voice making Harry’s insides curl pleasantly.

Harry was horrified at his reaction.

“I find that instead of wanting to throttle you for half the things you do that I would much rather do something else.”

Harry’s brain short circuited. His skin was hot, his stomach fluttering so wildly that it was a wonder he hadn’t thrown up the noodles he had eaten for lunch earlier that day. Or was it yesterday, Harry did not know anymore.

This was unbelievable.

Harry did not understand what Riddle was telling him.

 _No_ , Harry amended, awestruck,  _I just can’t believe this._

Harry opened and closed his mouth to speak, but the words refused to come. The way Riddle was looking at him made it impossible to speak, the short distance between them making him hyper aware of just how tall Riddle was and how smooth his skin looked. 

Riddle was so close that all it would take was one measly step and they’d be touching. There would be no gap between their bodies, no space between the skin exposed temptingly at the top of Riddle’s chest or the lips still stretched into a mischievous smile.

_Get a grip, Harry._

But there was no shaking off his shock or his attraction to the man. It was impossible to deny that he was interested, that he was tempted by the way Riddle’s lips curled and how those eyes flashed with desire.

It was devious, and the promise in those eyes was impossible to refuse. Especially when Riddle suddenly leaned in, bridging what little space was left between them, to press his lips lightly against his. As though he had somehow sensed the direction Harry’s thoughts had gone and he was only fulfilling the interest Harry was somehow broadcasting on his face?

Harry did not know.

“...won’t you let me in? It is very cold outside, and you look so very warm.” Riddle spoke into his lips.

Harry swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

This was dangerous. A complete and absolute mess waiting to spill over. He was torn, genuinely at a loss at what to do when Riddle sounded so interested and sincere. 

It was unacceptable that Harry was floored. That he didn’t think to automatically push the man back and slam the door in his face. It was the correct thing to do. The sensible and responsible reaction to employ when Riddle was  _drunk_ and he had exams to deal with.

Everything about the situation screamed “no.”

But Harry was curious, too bloody interested in finding out just what Riddle had in mind. Even when Riddle, on a good day, just made him want to scream obscenities at him.

This was a bad idea, and he knew it. Hermione would not approve. Hell, not even Ron would approve of something as dumb as this. But Harry was just so  _curious_.

_You know what they say...curiosity killed the cat._

Against his better judgment and every strongly held principle Harry had, he slowly nodded in acquiescence.

There was simply no way Harry could refuse.

Not when Riddle was looking at him like he was something to eat, and he wanted nothing more than to be devoured.

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, AO3 does not allow you to see the emojis. If you want to see exactly what Tom sent Harry, I recommend you follow this link to the fic with the actual emojis in them.
> 
> http://katsitting.tumblr.com/post/168152718197/hey-how-are-you-today-if-thats-not-too-late


End file.
